My Date
by Loise
Summary: A get together fic. But with the snarky Dorothy and charming but devious Quatre what could arise? Some language.


**My Date**

_Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue._

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"Miss Catatonia? May I sit here?" I gesture my acceptance before I register his words, over the speaker's identity. Slowly lifting my head I look into the smiling visage of Quatre Winner.

I'm shocked but I don't show it. Numbly I watch him sit beside me, his thigh pressing against mine; he flashes another of one of those smiles at me.

I regain my composure, inclining my head gracefully, I say rather sardonically, "Mr. Winner. A pleasure as always."

"As it is with me," he responds, his eyes peering into my own intently.

We sit here in silence for a couple moments, until he starts speaking about the war, the past.

He always does.

"It's been a while hasn't it?" He doesn't wait for my answer and continues, "I've been busy, running WEI. It's… different from being behind the console of Sandrock," here his voice grows sad, "But it's a unusual type of war, business. Often at time I feel more threatened than I ever did when I was in the cockpit."

He falls quiet for a while and his head it gazing at his loosely clasped fingers. He's changed, grown older, new lines that I have never seen before. Slightly more defined and taller, his hair has darkened a couple shades but… his eyes haven't changed. I don't think they ever will.

"Dorothy," he whispers, "Do you ever miss the people you never met?"

I'm stuck by his question. He respects me, but I don't think he admires me. We have very different ideals and beliefs. We contradict each other at every chance…

And yet, we are alike.

"Sometimes Quatre, I don't want to know. I just don't want to remember. Do I have to?" I answer quietly.

He shakes head, "No… I just wondered."

You didn't wonder Quatre, you have been thinking of the past again. I look on him with pity, and some contempt. I guess I haven't changed all that much in the time adjoining out last meeting.

"Quatre…"

"No Dorothy," he cuts me off sharply, "I don't want that. I don't want some underling, expressing pity."

Speechless I stare at him.

"I want someone who fights, with words. I want someone who has known battle, yet the past is behind them. I want someone who is strong and firm with their beliefs. I don't care for yours, but I suppose it will do."

"Will do?" I question with a hint of anger entering my voice.

He laughs, at me! "That's what I want," he says satisfied, he leans back and smiles at me, _patronizingly_.

It grates me to no end and I glare at him, responding hotly, "Mr. Winner please be so kind, so courteous, to fuck the hell off!"

He judges me, with those beautiful eyes of his. I hate them; I hate the way he uses them against me. How they disarm me utterly and completely. How I feel so hopeless, and all is not right in the world. That my place in this world is missing.

They change then.

Brimming with emotion, he speaks, "Dorothy, I was just teasing. Please don't be angry with me. You're strong so awfully strong," he ends off, looking to one side, a rosy blush infusing his cheeks.

How he manages to reverse my feeling unconditionally has always remained a mystery to me. He always was the enigma. The strange pale soldier-boy. That I feel like no other.

How the tables are turned upon me. I'm longer leading the horse. I suppose I shouldn't have leaded the gift horse by the mouth. I could always be so silly, such a fool.

"It does not matter, Quatre." I wave it away, "Tell me, why are you here? While I'm sure you are eligible to enter this exclusive club, I wouldn't think you would actually…"

He laughs mirthfully, "Dorothy, by connection, I own this club."

I raise a brow, "Oh really," and I glance about at the clientele, "How interesting."

"Is it not?" He playfully replies.

I look at him disdainfully, flicking at the tablecloth.

"I was wondering Dorothy, how you have been? I've thought of you."

"So have I, Quatre. You have figuring in my thoughts for… quite a while."

"Oh," and slowly I feel him shift over ever so the slightest, closer to me. I try to ignore it, but he can be distracting, "I've worried about you too Dorothy. Sometimes it seems, like I worry too much to be simply a… friend of your."

"It has been calmer, than during the war. This peace is so puzzling. The people, well, I have given up comprehending them. They still befuddle and confuse me."

"Yes… It's strange how people change, adapt, to a new environment. But I suppose that is survival."

Survival, Quatre?

"I do believe that you have changed too Dorothy. Relena has related to me of what you have been doing. It's impressive to try and achieve that."

"I wanted to show the people, the people who now want peace, to not look at the past with desire at the war, the MS but as causalities. The soldiers who fought and died for the Alliance, OZ, rebels... That's why I'm creating this memorial."

"Beautiful," he whispers reverently, "You are so beautiful when you speak, impassioned and full of fire!"

I continue, "I have managed to find at least one hundred thousand soldiers who have died in the past war."

"It's a horrible number isn't it?"

"Yes, then you think of the people who died, because you pressed a button. Rather dreadful really."

"Somehow, you change. Like wind. Now detached and pondering. Odd." He stares at me, fingers tapping a rhythm into the table.

I stare at my glass of red wine.

Quatre shall be footing the bill, I think as I take a not so delicate sip.

He watches me with amusement.

"You really are irritating you know? Just staring at me, like, I don't know!" Throwing my hand up in the air I glare at him childishly, "You like me!" And I laugh bitterly.

His expression changes.

"Find that strange do you?"

My mouth is agape, as gaze at him with faint horror.

"Well I do and that's it!" He huffs, folding his arms across his chest.

My eyebrows rise, and keep on rising, "Oh," I say. Rather stupid and I curse to myself. "That's… nice."

He looks at me expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what?"

He sighs in defeat, "Dorothy," he says pleadingly, "Just say it."

I sniff furiously.

He pats my hand, "There there, it's not that hard."

I positively growl and the hand moves quicker than a MS.

"Fine! I like you too!"

He grins, "Thanks!"

"Well?"

"Well what?" He looks confused.

"Aren't you going to propose?"

His jaw drops. "Ah… well, you see… eh…" He stammers out.

I smile mockingly, "Just kidding Winner."

He is visibly relieved. Too relieved.

"So you don't want to marry me?"

He has a look in his eyes that remind me of a cornered rabbit.

I'm hungry, and I do need a new muff…

"How about we get some food?"

"Okay…" He whispers shakily.

I signal to a waiter. One comes within seconds; I suppose there are benefits for dining with Winner, yes _benefits_.

"Greetings, Mr. Winner and… who sir is this fine lady?"

He grins at me mischievously.

I look at him calmly and charmingly, take a coy sip of my wine.

He is still grinning as he turns to the waiter, flashing his teeth and winningly say, "My date."

Thank God it was a small sip.


End file.
